


damned if i do (damned if i don't)

by mayuuunaise



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (or well, Alternate Universe - College/University, Aobajousai, Childhood Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Manager!Reader, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Slow Burn, childhood friend!reader, eventually anyway lol), various others lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-06-14 10:38:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15386958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayuuunaise/pseuds/mayuuunaise
Summary: 'til the end of the line, he says. he always has your back, he says. it's enough to stay in his spot beside you.yeah, well, Iwaizumi was never really good at lying.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i've always wanted to do a reader fic!! this is, more or less, a series of oneshots/snippets really with no ~ solid ~ plot uvu
> 
> (iwaizumi-centric/pov mostly!! bound to do a chapter from reader's pov tho!!)

It’s after he formally retires his jersey when Iwaizumi finally comes to the realization that you place, in fact, on the more popular side of the school’s population. There are more and more desperate seniors and brave underclassmen who call you out during lunch, red-faced and stammering and asking for a bit of your time. Iwaizumi doesn’t really understand at first, but finds the sight of it familiar. It’s only a few days after that he understands why exactly the situation presents itself as such: he has seen it done over and over again, only with Oikawa being the one called out by shy girls and confident girls and even a few boys in the mix.

He has never really thought of you in that position, but he also can’t help but agree. As to why, the spiker doesn’t really bother to dissect it. Iwaizumi figures that if you’ve managed to charm him and Oikawa to be friends with you for so long, then a bunch of regular teenage boys would definitely find you likable. Hell, Oikawa was even more popular with the ladies so how couldn’t you have been just as liked?

When Iwaizumi casually mentions your popularity over library cram sessions with the other third years, Matsukawa and Hanamaki give him weird stares. What does he mean he never noticed? Is he blind? Has he not noticed the great number of recruits every year? The librarian in charge shushes them up before Hanamaki can cross over to Iwaizumi’s side to prod him on the chest with each question.

Iwaizumi shrugs. He has always chalked it up to the team’s overall popularity and strength. Matsukawa and Hanamaki don’t deny it; but they do have to admit, having a pretty sports manager to take care of you sure does wonders for the heart (and imagination). 

“It’s weird,” Iwaizumi admits with a scowl. Hanamaki settles back down on his chair next to Matsukawa before the wing spiker continues. “To think of her like that, I mean.” When you’ve been friends for so long, he feels it’s simply blasphemous to even think about you in such a light.

Matsukawa snorts in disbelief. Hanamaki rests his cheek on his open palm with a tiny, mocking grin. “You’re telling me you have never - not even once - thought about dating the manager?”

Almost automatically, Iwaizumi grabs the closest thing in reach - an eraser, in this case - and throws it straight towards Hanamaki’s forehead. The librarian shushes them once more as she hears the pink haired volleyball player exclaim in surprise at the sudden attack. Iwaizumi keeps a cool poker face on, attempting to appear busy and studying diligently even when trigonometric functions only seem to jumble in his brain.

He has known you for more than half of his life. Admittedly, he has thought about it maybe once or twice, brought up during dinner by his mother complaining about competent in-laws and how he should never let you go. He hasn’t been taking it seriously, however, knowing full well Oikawa has been having similar quips and conversations by his sisters since the beginning of high school. If it comes down to it, Iwaizumi has always assumed you would obviously choose Oikawa instead of himself. The two of you have always been teased left and right by your relatives, and it doesn’t help that you seem to be closer to the coveted setter (or so he thinks).

There’s a stutter in his chest at the thought of the two of you getting together. Iwaizumi chalks it up to a sense of fear of being left behind by the two constants in his life. 

Hanamaki whines about another trigonometric formula and the librarian threatens to throw them out if she even hears another squeak from the all-boys study group.


	2. bad parenting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi has never really known how to play the bad parent with you, but oh he wishes he does.

The three of you share a certain dynamic that leaves others who don’t know all three of you as well confused. When you’ve been with some people for so long, it leaves you with the habit of wanting to care for them. Hanamaki jokingly coins it as a form of parenting. Depending on the focal person, someone always had to be the bad parent one way or the other.

You have always been the one to baby Oikawa, one way or another, no matter if he had been stupid or at fault. Iwaizumi would show no mercy to the setter. You would then be the hardest on Iwaizumi, nagging him like a mother hen. In contrast, Oikawa would be an annoyance but allowed him his freedom without fail. Oikawa would then be fiercely protective of you, whereas Seijoh’s ace let you have your space. It isn’t as if Iwaizumi isn’t concerned about your well being, but he tries to make sure you would be able to fall back with the assurance of someone quietly fixing the shit you leave behind.

It is a weird system, but one that surprisingly works.

It doesn’t come as a wonder that the parenting you do on one another would bleed through in the face of your decisions; which is why Iwaizumi is unsure of how to react when you tell them you have a group date after practice.

Time seems to slow to a stop as soon as the words leave your lips. All eyes turn to you, and you feign ignorance at all the stares you’re getting, pushing Kindaichi’s back even harder as he stretches half heartedly. You don’t seem to hear his stammers of protest, focusing on not catching any of the team’s eyes. In the background, Iwaizumi hears someone getting hit in the face with a volleyball.

Iwaizumi is used to Oikawa going on group dates. The two of you have a routine to it already, even. Iwaizumi would berate him from trying to skip out on practice, using his command as vice captain to double his strength training in the process; you would then corner the captain and he would bat those long lashes of his at you to win a free pass. It would always work and you would let him out of practice earlier, only to triple his regime the day after once Iwaizumi finds out and knocks you on the head. 

Iwaizumi himself has participated in group dates, all due to favours from his classmates of course. The process wouldn’t be as easy to get out of practice earlier. You would frown and pout and not say a word, but Oikawa would always be enthusiastic to let him go. Iwaizumi would then get a series of messages and texts from you, asking what time you would be heading home, who were you with, did they have proper food in the karaoke place you went to, don’t forget we have homework tomorrow for history. Oikawa would laugh at him the next day, and Iwaizumi could only wish that he could have just doubled his own stamina training instead of having to endure your quiet nagging.

But this…

Oikawa’s boisterous laughter knocks him out of his thoughts. “I’m sorry,” the captain chuckles, wiping away imaginary tears from his face. “I think I heard you wrong. What did you say again?” 

You pout, huffing in annoyance and embarrassment. Your cheeks are flushed a pretty pink and you still refuse to make eye contact with anybody even after you mumble an apology to Kindaichi and his poor flexibility. In contrast, Iwaizumi is heavily interested in your body language and stares at you expectantly. When you straighten up and let the first year go, you try to reply to Oikawa with a little more confidence.

“I said, I have to leave practice early,” you said. “Some girls from class invited me to a group date, and I didn’t see a reason for me not to go.”

The silence from the surrounding area is a little deafening. Oikawa’s grin is stuck in pause, but Iwaizumi can see that the fears in his head are already working a mile a minute. When you finally seem to work up the nerve to halfheartedly glare back at the group staring at you, simultaneous sounds of shock resound from the team. Oikawa’s shouts of protest ring the loudest.

“What do you _mean_ , you’re going on a group date?”

“Se, Senpai!”

“You can’t go, no way!”

Hanamaki strides forward, throwing an arm over you with an amused look on his face. “Oya, is our baby manager finally growing up?” he teases. Your frustrated and flustered face only seem to egg him on even more. After all, you usually don’t lose your temper and refrained from raising your voice, especially in front of the younger kids. 

“Makki, how could you say that!” Oikawa screeches, grabbing his fellow third year by the collar.

“Iwa-chan, don’t tell me you’ll allow this!” Iwaizumi would be amazed (and more than a little creeped out) at the synchronized head turn as soon as Oikawa finishes his screeching, if it isn’t for the fact that he’s the one currently in the hot seat. The wing spiker manages to blink once or twice, his hands moving on their own as he tosses the volleyball from side to side. You also look at him expectantly. He doesn’t know what kind of answer you want from him.

He wants to tell you to stay, but falls short of a good enough reason to ask that of you. 

“Let her do what she wants,” is what comes out of his mouth after. A chorus of protests erupt once more, the boys crowding around you screaming out feeble excuses for you not to go. Iwaizumi is honestly a little overwhelmed at how protective a group of territorial teenage boys can be towards their prized female manager. 

“Manager-san, just go on a date with me if you’re looking for love!”

Iwaizumi throws the ball towards the voice with more force than necessary, knocking a particularly cocky-sounding Yahaba in the head, rebounding and hitting Oikawa’s face in the process.

“Get back to practice!” he barks out.

* * *

Your classmates had fetched you in the middle of practice. Even the cute girls you introduced to Oikawa didn’t seem to appease the captain as you said your goodbyes. Shittykawa was extra mopey and moody, and Iwaizumi would make sure you paid your dues the next day. 

Not like the wing spiker is much better. He’s been oddly on edge, knees bouncing and fingers impatiently tapping against his crossed arms. After spiking the ball thrice in the direction of Oikawa’s face, the head coach has asked him to sit the rest of practice out. Clearly, he’s not one hundred percent present for today’s training.

Iwaizumi’s eyes keep darting to the sports bag by his feet. Cellphones aren’t allowed during club training; even you don’t use your phone to time them or keep notes. He remembers how you prefer to honour the rule of being a hundred percent focused on the tasks needed as a member of the volleyball club. 

Still, one single text couldn’t be the end of the world, right? Especially since he’s already been cooling down for the past half hour.

Iwaizumi quickly snatches up his bag and rummages through for the mobile device stuck in the depths. He fires out a quick text to you, and waits anxiously for a reply.

[ _How’s the group date?_ ]

He presses send and awkwardly looks around the room, as if afraid to be caught. Consequences for texting on duty aren’t exactly severe, just a few laps around the gym and a few flying falls that he has already done more than a hundred times. Still, Iwaizumi crosses his arms and discreetly attempts to hide his phone from view. He manages to keep face for all of thirty seconds before becoming startled by the vibration from his phone.

[ _Terrible_.]

Iwaizumi doesn’t understand how one adjective can give him such a sense of relief. 


	3. shields up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for third years like you, there is no next time. (post-karasuno vs seijo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't /normally/ update this fast, trust me :'))))) but i'm trying a Thing here that every time i finish two chapters/parts i upload one!! thank u for ur support!!

It’s over. His days on a high school volleyball team is officially over. Iwaizumi doesn’t want it to end here, too many regrets weigh heavy on his shoulders. The final whistle blows, and the gymnasium is deafeningly silent as Iwaizumi’s eyes follow the yellow and blue volleyball roll lifelessly outside of the court’s boundary.   
  
He could have done more. Should have done more. How dare he call himself the ace when he can only do so much?

Everything else moves in a blur, the next thing he knows the coach has said his final thanks. Makki and Mattsun let their frustrations out in tears, lips almost breaking as they chew down the sobs threatening to rack out from their bodies. Oikawa is oddly quiet, perhaps a little catatonic if Iwaizumi has time to be cheeky. The second years are crying, apologies spilling from their tongues; we could have gone farther, I’m sorry, we could have done more.

His eyes turn to you and suddenly, Iwaizumi’s hit with memories of too long ago. When Oikawa and he were still too young, too selfish, and buried their troubles and frustrations in sobs and screams on your dark blue and white Kitagawa Daiichi jersey. You were strong then too, holding them both close and whispering words of encouragement. He remembers you attempting to shield both of them with your small back, your height differences not as apparent when you were all still barely teenagers. He doesn’t necessarily tower over you now, but you seem to stand even taller, straight-backed and sturdy. You stand silent, a watery smile on your face as the first years turn to you and bow in respect, in genuine apology. 

“I’m proud of all of you,” you say, your voice miraculously steady. Your words mimic the head coach’s, but warmer and hits somewhere deeper in the core, “You’ve all fought bravely.” 

Something in Iwaizumi snaps, and he wonders if he really did fight as bravely as he could have. His mind flashes back to the moment his spike connected with Karasuno’s ace, and berates himself: should have been faster, stronger, _better-_

Oikawa slaps his back, hard. Come now, Ace, he calls, you need to thank them properly. Hanamaki and Matsukawa take turns thumping him on the back almost equally hard, a firm reminder that he has done what he can. Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and uses the front of his uniform to angrily wipe away the tears.

Warm hands flatten on the four behind his jersey. They’re your hands, he realizes, and stills for a few moments. You don’t say anything, much like the other three third-years, and can only gently push him forward, like you always do. Iwaizumi wants to know if your face and expression matches the strength from your palms, but moves forward instead. He doesn’t think he could take it if he knew otherwise.

The regulars line up by number, facing the crowds that cheered and the other players who have yet to be chosen to represent Seijoh. “Thank you very much,” their resounding voices bellow low, drowning out the claps of congratulations. When they’re done, the regulars all turn to face you, picking up water bottles and sweat-soaked towels to throw in the laundry later. Iwaizumi thinks this is exactly why the team loves their manager so much.

“Thank you!” They yell, heads bowed low in gratitude. Thank you for the three years of service and care, they say. Iwaizumi silently thanks you for the near two decade worth of managing his and Oikawa’s assess.

Your smile is crooked and you’re biting your lower lip in the subtlest way, but you refuse to let the tears fall, bowing back to the team in thanks instead. Iwaizumi wants to hide you from the world at that moment.

* * *

He finds you sitting at the back row of the bus, tucked in the corner by the window all by yourself. Iwaizumi understands that this really is a repeat of Kitagawa Daiichi’s defeat in their third year of middle school, where you expertly hid your tears from the team (and even to Oikawa and himself). He refuses to let it pass exactly the same. His strides are quick as he crosses the distance from the entrance to the last rows of the bus, wordlessly passing the other third years who’ve spread out. Iwaizumi stops beside you, gaze softening as he watches you clench and unclench your fist over your jersey pants.

Your eyes are still watery when you look up at him.

“I wanted to watch you all play more,” you finally croak out. There’s an electric tension in the air at your words, as if the regulars who sit silent and rigid hear your soft voice echo. “I wanted to support you all the way to nationals. I don’t want it to end like this.” 

Iwaizumi wants to apologize to you, tell him he’s sorry he couldn’t take you to nationals again, sorry he broke another promise, sorry there isn’t a next time, not for you, not for him, not with the team you worked so hard to manage and care for for the past three years.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be the one crying-” you say instead and something in him snaps.

“Cry if you want to, idiot manager!” It’s not every day his harsh words are directed at you, but Iwaizumi is too frustrated with himself to realize he’s projecting. He fumes, frowns down at your surprised doe-in-headlights expression. Iwaizumi swears then and there that you will never attempt to stop your tears in front of him ever again. He huffs and moves to sit with his back facing you, elbow stretched to the seats in front of you. He’s effectively trapping and shielding you from the others’ view, you would later realize. “If you’re worried about what everyone else thinks, then I’ll just have to make sure they don’t see right?”

Iwaizumi turns to look at you over his shoulder, sharp eyes softening the slightest bit as you slowly come to understand his gruff words. “My back is big enough this time to shield you,” he whispers and you start to sniffle.

You start to wail silently, hands covering your undoubtedly messy face. You’re still chanting your apologies, your dreams and ambitions, what could have been and what should have beens. Iwaizumi takes it all in, your frustrations and regrets and he wishes so, so bad that he could take them all away. Hopes you’ll let him help you carry the weight. His shoulders are wide enough now, he reckons; Iwaizumi’ll take it all if he can. 

All of the others in the bus sit still, obediently facing forward to let you cry. The tremble in their shoulders as they do so tell Iwaizumi they’re just as apologetic to you as you are to them.


	4. fears and promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You hate it when they get injured. (post-Shiratorizawa vs Seijoh, Inter High)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapters are getting longer and longer lmao :')))) and finally a chapter in the reader's POV!! :'DD

You hate it when this happens. 

When both of your best friends have been rowdy and athletic since you were barely walking however, it seems inevitable that you’d be the one to patch up their injuries. You have been keeping a first aid kit in your school bag since junior high school after Oikawa’s first sprain. It still rattles you though, no matter how many cuts you patch up and bruises you ice. 

You aren’t afraid of a lot of things, but you’re always scared of your boys getting hurt.

Oikawa often takes years off of your life from his reckless and relentless training, pushing himself to the absolute boundaries of his limits. It inevitably results in shopping trips with Iwaizumi to the medical stores in order to restock your supplies. You remember distinctly the week before your first practice match with Karasuno, and his eagerness to absolutely destroy his previous underclassman. This should have clued you in and it should have made you stop him before it had been too late and his knee gave out from underneath him after a hundred or so practice jump serves. You wouldn’t talk to Oikawa outside of practice for half a month (he deserved it, and the third years knew it well).

In contrast, Iwaizumi manages to take good care of himself. He rests when instructed to, and never goes over his own limit without proper supervision. Oikawa whines how it’s unfair just how naturally athletic the shorter boy is compared to the rest of the team, but you refuse to admit it’s just that. Iwaizumi is disciplined and actually understands how training too hard, too fast, will only backfire on him in the long run. Apart from minor bruises and the usual knots in his (very muscular, but you don’t really need to mention that) back, after practice, he doesn’t hog as much medical attention as an athlete could (he does, however, still need to control his own strength when angered by Oikawa’s antics. You know for a fact that a lot of the team’s minor mishaps is caused by his overpowered spikes). 

Which is why you almost burst out crying the moment you see him cradle his wrist in pain for a split second after Kindaichi manages to bounce a spike to his awaiting block. It’s only a quick moment, but it’s enough for eyes trained to see even the slightest of injuries. You’re not too sure how it happens - after all, spikes and blocks like these are very commonplace and, dare you say it, quite a rookie mistake. But it still happens, and you’re still blowing the whistle like any good manager would, rushing to Seijoh’s ace in the volleyball court.

The team stops in their tracks, a little confused when you come marching over with a frown on your face and stop in front of Iwaizumi.

“What’s the matter, Manager?” Mattsun, who is closest to the wing spiker, asks when you don’t immediately give any sort of explanation. Iwaizumi calls your name and your head immediately snaps up to frown harder at him.

“You are hurt,” you blurt out, looking directly into Iwaizumi’s green eyes. His gaze hardens ever so slightly before turning his head with a click of his tongue.

“I’m fine,” he snaps gruffly. You could practically feel him lie through his teeth. “Let’s get back to practice.”

“I’m not letting you make it worse, Zumi.” You say firmly. This is one of the few rules the coach has asked you to be very strict with. You can’t let someone ruin their potential because of something as petty as their stubbornness. Iwaizumi is as stubborn as it gets though, and he’s refusing to budge, hiding his wrist by crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oya, Iwa-chan, are you injured?” Oikawa struts over from the other side of the court, hands on his hips as he looks at the two of you curiously. His warm brown eyes flick to you quickly before narrowing back at the shorter male. Before Iwaizumi can say anything more,Oikawa tuts out disapprovingly at him, “You’re going to make her cry if you keep on lying, Iwa-chan.”

“I won’t!” You snap back to the captain and the slight tremble in your lips is definitely what gives you away. Iwaizumi stiffens, like he always does when you’re about to let the waterworks out, and consents with a sigh. He tilts his head back, contemplating what to say next and refuses to meet your eyes. You think he’s exasperated with you and you don’t understand _why_ but he still turns around dutifully and walks towards the gym doors without a word.

Oikawa gives out a little hum that you aren’t so sure about, but otherwise says nothing else. He turns back to the team who has been staring at the three of you for a good few minutes or so. “Alright, back to practice!” He calls out and searches the gym for another third year wing spiker. “Yudacchi, can you fill in for Iwa-chan for a bit?”

You hear Yuda yelling back an affirmative, but otherwise don’t really register what else is going on in the gym. You follow Iwaizumi’s stiff movements before you decide to go with him as well.

“Kana-chan,” you call out to the new assistant manager, a jumpy first year from Kunimi’s class you managed to recruit a few weeks back. She hurriedly jogs to you, squeaking out a high pitched “ _Yes_!” as she draws nearer. “Can you take over refereeing for a bit?” You ask her sweetly, though the way you’re putting your whistle over her head doesn’t really give the smaller girl much of a choice. “I’ll just check up on Iwaizumi. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

You dash off to the direction of the school clinic without waiting for her answer.

* * *

The school doctor has gone home already, though that’s to be expected. It’s way past official club hours, and you are pretty sure a lot of the sports teams are already in their off season. You manage to catch up with Iwaizumi but he doesn’t really talk to you, walking straight to the clinic. You want to ask him why he’s being so cold, but don’t have the nerve to do so, afraid of whatever his answer may be.

Perhaps if there’s one situation you’re most afraid of, it’s the one where your boys are mad at you, and Iwaizumi giving you the cold shoulder isn’t doing much to keep your nerves from being on edge.

Still, Iwaizumi sits down on the edge of the clinic bed. He doesn’t look at you, but you know he’s expecting you to fix up his injured wrist for him in the meantime. You know where the doctor keeps her first aid kit like the back of your hand, having to accompany a lot of volleyball club members here in your three years as manager. You tentatively sit beside him, a little closer to the edge and with your weight still on your feet. You’re not entirely sure if the brunette actually even wants you here, and make sure to let him know that you understand if he needs some space (even if you don’t understand _why_ he needs it).

“I’m not going to bite you,” Iwaizumi teases after he notices your stiff posture. You pout, but otherwise refuse to say anything to retaliate. You choose instead to pick up his right hand gingerly, and act as if you don’t see the way he flinches the slightest bit.

“This doesn’t look like it’s broken.” You observe. His arm and hand look all right, the swelling not as glaringly obvious against his tanned skin, but you know for a fact that you aren’t mistaken with his injury. You hesitate, but apply just the tiniest bit of pressure on the inside of his wrist and the reaction is almost instantaneous. A sprain then, most likely; it’s not a severe one, but if it isn’t treated correctly, could cause far greater pain than it should. You tell him as such in a soft voice, as if talking to a child. You aren’t used to reprimanding Iwaizumi like you are with the rest of those reckless third year boys, especially the other third that completes your little triangle. But he flinches at your words nonetheless, still adamantly refusing to meet your gaze.

You slowly start to understand that the wing spiker might just be the tiniest bit guilty over getting hurt, knowing full well how much you hate it. You feel your chest constrict at the thought. 

“Since when?” You mumble out quietly. You set to work, rummaging the kit for the coolant cold spray you stored here for situations like these. You aren’t as confident, considering that the injury is most likely a few days old already, but you continue with procedure anyway.

“Since the match with Shiratorizawa,” he mumbles back just as quietly. You blink up at him. That had only been about two days ago, with today being your first day back in practice (though you have no doubt in your mind that the brunette was still training on your day off). You hum in response, waiting for him to finish verbalizing his thoughts. “Ushiwaka’s spikes are still pretty brutal.”

You remember thinking during that match that your arms might have fallen off trying to receive those. You can’t imagine the toll it took to those actually on the court.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask him, not unkindly. Genuinely curious, it is your job after all. You’re not just an additional cheerleader closer to the team on the bench.

“You’re always so scared about injuries,” he muses. You’re about to say something to refute him, but he follows through with a soft voice, “I didn’t want you crying over something like this when you couldn’t even cry during Inter-High.”

Something in your stomach flutters at the kindness in his words, at the way he speaks to you so softly. Your eyes flutter up to meet his, but he’s looking pointedly at the way your smaller hands hold his arm. 

“I’m sorry we couldn’t beat him this time.” The admission must be painful for him. You see his right hand twitching, nervous and vulnerable.

Iwaizumi is always so honest with you, that you think to forgive him just this once for concealing his injury. You think there shouldn’t be anything to forgive for how the match turned out when you know he did his best in the court that day, just like his teammates.

“I won’t cry in the Spring Tournament either,” you announce and continue to wrap his wrist with the bandage. “Because you’ll win against Shiratorizawa this time and we’ll go to Nationals together.”

You finish his wrist wrap and make a mental note to remind him to have it checked professionally with the school doctor tomorrow. You meet his eyes head on, and reach to squeeze his uninjured hand. “So tell me when you’re hurt, next time, and I’ll do my part so we can go there.”

Iwaizumi finally gives you that crooked little grin of his and your left with a warm feeling all over.


	5. high heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi detests anyone who thinks high heels on high school students should remotely even be a Thing. (relatively tall!reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've finished this for a while but some of the others haven't really been... done... yet.... lmao still, this was the funnest chapter and i wish i could have expanded on it even more :'))))

Height has always been a bit of a sour topic for Iwaizumi.

He’s not a short guy, has never really been placed in the front row because of his height, but it’s still pretty irritating when others tend to compare with the people he’s usually with. You like to joke that what Iwaizumi lacks in height, he makes up for more than enough with his muscles, but this doesn’t seem to really appease the boy. Not when your own height isn’t too far off from his.

You’re not a small girl by any means, it’s just that you tend to stand beside Matsukawa that people assume you’re a little on the short side. Iwaizumi only actually has a few inches over you, and though it’s something he’ll never admit, he is a little insecure about how little the differences are. Arato-senpai, the head manager before you, had always told him how girls like being smaller than their boyfriends, how shorter girls always had the luxury of being able to readily choose taller boys who made them feel safe and warm. Iwaizumi remembers Arato teasing you just a little, as she does with the girls volleyball team as well, over how hard it must be for a girl of your stature to find someone like that.

(“Oh, but Oikawa-kun seems to be hitting a growth spurt,” she clicks her tongue, checking the results of their physicals. “Who knows? Give or take a few years and he’ll be hitting six feet tall.” Arato cheekily looks back at Iwaizumi, eyes darting between the two of you. “Or perhaps… there might be another contender?”)

He pushes it to the back of his head, and attempts to focus on the topic at hand that seems to be greatly amusing Hanamaki. 

“Manager, you’re going to be the representative for Class 1?” Makki can barely hold back his laughter at the thought of you acting like those cute girls modeling on stage for the annual cultural festival pageant. Only open to the graduating classes, it’s a classic event that most of the student body can’t wait to see. Iwaizumi doesn’t really see the humor in it: you’re perfectly attractive and smart enough for it, he thinks. And as he has only recently began discovering, you seem to be only growing in popularity as the school years pass.

“They wanted someone tall this year. Yukino-senpai from last year got scouted as a model after, you know.” Matsukawa explains, picking at the egg rolls packed in his bento. You seem to take offense in Hanamaki’s amusement when he only giggles more.

“Are you interested in a career shift, Manager?” Makki teases. “You certainly could stand as tall as one.”

“Mattsun is joining too as my partner!” You pout and pettily steal one of the side dishes from Hanamaki’s lunch box to retaliate. This only seems to push the light haired wing spiker’s funny bone even further as he throws his head back in laughter. Iwaizumi himself can’t help but chuckle at the thought of Matsukawa’s deadpan humour when he answers in the question and answer portion. 

“They wanted someone taller than her,” Matsukawa explains again with a shrug, conveniently leaving out what Iwaizumi knows he’d say next: _and I was the only one who fit the bill_.

“Ooh, this is just priceless. I can’t wait to hear what Oikawa thinks about all this.” 

Iwaizumi remembers that he isn’t really the only one who’s a little sensitive about their heights when you flush in embarrassment at the implications this whole conversation has been hinting at. Hanamaki is still shaking with laughter as he teases you further, probably enjoying the way their usual mild tempered manager squirms. Though Iwaizumi has the urge to help you, he figures it will only be hypocritical of him to even say anything about height and confidence level.

Not that you usually have any issues about your height or with your self-confidence.

“I think she’s going to do well,” Iwaizumi argues over a bite of his onigiri. He uses his time to chew as a reason to step out of the conversation again, Hanamaki going on a tirade to explain himself. When he swallows, he shoots a teasing look to the tallest of the four of you instead, “Just not sure if Mattsun is going to keep up.”

The deadpan look Matsukawa sends you all leads Hanamaki into another laughing fit, which eventually derails the topic of conversation to Matsukawa himself instead of you. The knowing yet grateful look you send him is enough to distract him from Makki’s rambunctious laughter.

* * *

The week of his last high school cultural festival arrives far too soon for his liking. The last day marks the day of the pageant, and Iwaizumi loses the chance to spend it with you when your classmates whisk you and Matsukawa off for some last minute prep work for the pageant in the afternoon. Oikawa is also, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be found. Iwaizumi doesn’t particularly care if it’s because he’s busy entertaining his latest set of fans or perhaps forced to prepare for the pageant as well. In the end, he’s been stuck wasting the day hopping from food stall to food stall with Hanamaki, debating over which would be crowned this year’s best class food stall (Hanamaki thinks it’s the cafe with their coffee and sweets, Iwaizumi doesn’t really think it counts).

They wander the halls of the third years’ corridor when your head suddenly pops out of one of the classrooms. 

“Zumi! Makki!” You call out with a grin and wave them over. Iwaizumi can’t quite put a finger on it, but there’s something in his gut telling him that there’s something different about you from the cheeky little smile on your glossed lips (it’s not the light, probably unfinished, makeup, he decides).

“Oh, is this where the contestants are prepping?” Hanamaki asks, jogging over to you. “Where’s Mattsun? Is he getting a makeover too? Are they putting lipstick?”

“Still in wardrobe with Kaho-san. He’s refusing to wear a sweater vest.” You take a peek over your shoulder and almost laugh at the chaos you see. “They want us to go with a preppy theme, but he’s not letting go of the leather jacket he found from the clothing rack.”

“Takoyaki,” Iwaizumi offers when he’s near enough. When you move to take one with a sing-song _thank you_ is when he realizes what it is that’s a little different.

You’re taller than him. Iwaizumi almost drops the paper container holding the takoyaki he’s been saving for you (just in case).

You let out a melodic little laugh when you see he’s finally noticed it, sidling up to him and gleefully motioning with your hand the (admittedly small) distance between the two of you. Makki seems to notice it as well and Iwaizumi wants to punch that shit-eating grin with a solid right hook. He groans loudly when the sound of your laughter only seems to be a summoning cue for Oikawa and his stupid, smug face.

The brunette slinks out of the classroom as well and drapes an arm over your shoulders, shooting an obnoxious grin at Iwaizumi. “Doesn’t this feel like we’re back in grade school? She’s taller than you again, Iwa-chan!” 

“If it were, you’d be the shortest, Trashykawa,” Iwaizumi almost spits out. You break out into another laugh at his words. It’s nothing but the truth anyway, and he watches Oikawa’s fair features turn a shade of red. 

“I was not!”

“Wimpy little kid too, I recall.” 

“Was not!”

“String bean, only not so long. Half a string bean?”

“Iwa-chan!”

Oikawa’s frustrations only seem to brighten up your mood even further. You poke your toothpick into another takoyaki ball, enjoying the familiar banter you’ve heard for the past twelve years or so. Iwaizumi only wants to distract himself from the fact that he needs to look _up_ at you, at the moment.

It shouldn’t really bother him all that much. It really shouldn’t. But Iwaizumi doesn’t quite understand why his brain thinks now, of all times, is the right moment to remind him of Arato-senpai’s comments about girls and heights. You aren’t that kind of person who thinks stuff like physical appearances and height and weight and muscles really matter much -

But what if you are?

Iwaizumi startles a little, and notices that while Oikawa has continued to pout, you fill the air with chatter alongside Makki. Why should he even care what you think? It isn’t any of his business, after all, what you prefer. Instead, he takes a glance to check the height on the strappy black heels you’re wearing, attempting to estimate how high they need to be in order for you to surpass him. Because really, if he has to be honest, Iwaizumi thinks your legs look absolutely divine in-

_Mind out of the gutter, Hajime_. 

Mercifully, your class representative calls you back in to finish your makeup and wardrobe (Iwaizumi is really, desperately, trying not to notice that you’re still just in a tank top and jean shorts and those horribly wonderful heels), looking weary and tired, Matsukawa right behind him looking smug as ever.

“Knock ‘em dead, Manager!” Hanamaki calls out to you, ready to take his leave. In spite of Hanamaki’s relentless teasing from earlier weeks, he actually has been rooting for you to win. Iwaizumi thinks most of the volleyball club members are ready to raise hell later for you and Matsukawa (Oikawa whines constantly why they aren’t cheering _him_ on and honestly, Iwaizumi sighs out in exasperation, does he even have to _ask_ ), organized by Makki, of course. Iwaizumi shoots you a small smile, pressing the container of takoyaki in your hands as he gently pushes you back in the classroom.

“Don’t get sauce on your face,” he warns to which you can’t help but throw your head back in laughter. He swats your hand away though when you try to coo and pat his spiky hair, attempting to rile him up again. You give them both one final grin before disappearing with Oikawa and Mattsun behind the doors again.

* * *

In the end, it seems Matsukawa’s gotten his way with wardrobe as the two of you step to the stage in matching outfits, leather jackets fashionably worn over your clothes. Iwaizumi doesn’t think strappy black heels and that tiny shirt dress you’re wearing should look as good as you make it. Hanamaki is right though: you really do have the makings of a model (Iwaizumi forces himself to focus on your face as you and Matsukawa walk the runway. _Fuck_ , are you even wearing any shorts underneath? This is bad for his health).

When all’s said and done, however, he meets you at the back of the outdoor stage, away from the noisy laughter and cheers as they announce this year’s Festival King and Queen. Oikawa, unsurprisingly again, is crowned Festival King to the squeals and shrieks of Seijoh’s female population. You don’t win, although the volleyball club members would loudly argue otherwise.

“Over here!” You wave him over, leaning on one of the unused tables. Some of the other contestants are also still milling about, chatting each other up and gossiping about the rest of the pageant. Iwaizumi smirks a little at your obvious discomfort in high heels, one hand massaging one of your feet as you try to balance yourself.

“How’s the weather up there?” He jokes. Iwaizumi might consider height a sour topic to joke about, but he’ll always have a soft spot for you. You roll your eyes and instead of responding, quickly undo the straps that hold your feet in place.

“There,” you kick off the heels and fall back to a height that’s a more than a few inches shorter than him. You immediately let out a groan in relief, making little stomps and wiggling your toes, letting the cold dew tickle the soles of your feet as you do so. Iwaizumi snorts, bending down to pick up your discarded heeled footwear and gently setting down the outdoor sneakers you usually use instead. Iwaizumi is thankful for following his gut, with the way you simply beam up at him.

“Ooh, Zumi, you’re the best!” You coo, eagerly escaping the cold grass and stepping into your worn white sneakers. Iwaizumi thinks to scold you, teasing of the prospect of athlete’s foot from stuffing your damp feet inside, but holds his tongue as you practically sigh in contentment. “High heels are so painful. They make your legs look nice but your toes get all cramped up. I’m not wearing those ever again.”

“You don’t even need them,” he comments with a short laugh. “Come on, Makki and the others are waiting.”

“Mm,” you grin and sidle up to him, easily leaning your head on his shoulder. Iwaizumi freezes for a moment and the both of you pause in your tracks. It would be so easy for him to wrap his arm around your shoulder and pull you in closer. Your hair tickles his chin but he makes no move to push you away, especially when the first loud boom overhead signals the start of the cultural festival’s fireworks display. The both of you tilt your heads the slightest bit, watching in awe.

“I think I like the view better from here.” You laugh again and settle even more comfortably by his side, the top of your head just barely brushing the tip of his nose. Iwaizumi makes a gruff sound from the back of his throat, but smiles softly nonetheless.

Maybe his height isn’t all that bad after all.


	6. nicknames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi's favourite sound just might be his name from your lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been in a slump, but writing for iwaizumi is always a blast!!! also, i put up a new iwaizumi/reader (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15793167/chapters/36751632) set in final haikyuu quest if that's your jam! uvu

You call him _Haji_ the first time you meet, five years young and barely able to run without your mother fearing you’ll trip. Everyone calls him Hajime though, even stupid Tohru calls him Hajime without question when he’s never given him permission to do so. But you’re a peculiar little kid, and you have always demanded his attention without question. Plus, it’s so tedious to call out three syllables when two works just as fine, you tell him like it’s simply a fact of life. So _Hajime_ slowly becomes _Haji_ until he’s learned to respond to simply your voice.

His mother thinks it’s cute, but Iwaizumi feels she thinks everything you do is cute. She coos whenever she hears it, and even his usual stone-faced father cracks a small smile when they hear you call for him outside his door. He can’t really understand, if he has to be honest; Tohru’s older sisters tell him (tells both of them, really) he’ll get it when he’s older. Just be grateful to have such a cute girl as your friend, they say.

So he lets it go, like any six-year old kid who doesn’t know much would. 

Iwaizumi simply allows it, like he does many things when it concerns you. Like how he lets you hold his hand when you walk down the street sandwiched between him and Tohru. Or how he lets you ‘steal’ his extra serving of tofu when you pout and he looks away to let you think he doesn’t know. How he allows you to borrow some of his savings to buy ice cream and milk bread for Torhu’s birthday. Or how he even lets you hide behind him when you start crying because a bully named Hiroto decides he hates your pigtails and begins giving you a hard time about it.

(Iwaizumi doesn’t let you know though how he managed to get all his scrapes and bruises the next day, but Tohru looks at him and he _knows_ that his annoying neighbour somehow knows as well. Tohru doesn’t tell you, and it’s the first time Iwaizumi thinks he’s a dependable guy after all)

* * *

[“Haji, do you think Tohru’s going to get better soon?”

“His sister said it’s nothing serious. It’ll be fine without him.”

“But… It’s more fun to play when it’s the three of us.”

“…tw…f…s…”

“Hm? Say that again, Haji?”

“Nothing! Let’s get ice cream. It’s getting hot.”

He dashes off faster than you can keep up.]

* * *

 

_Haji_ somehow becomes _Iwaizumi_ in junior high school, after one too many questions from your peers if he and you are a couple. He doesn’t mind as much, because people ask you about it when they hear you call Oikawa by his first name as well. Iwaizumi doesn’t think it’s a big deal, because it shouldn’t be. Boys and girls could be friends as close as the both of you, after all. 

It’s different, you tell him with a faraway look. You’re not kids anymore.

Iwaizumi would feel the flare of anger and hurt mingling in the pits of his stomach. He doesn’t understand, twelve is still too young to be an adult, who were you kidding? But then again, even he calls Oikawa by his last name now, and the brunette has taken to call him Iwa-chan instead. Iwaizumi doesn’t really think it should matter what you call him, but there’s a strange twist in his gut whenever he remembers the way _Haji_ sounds so easy from your lips.

It doesn’t matter, he thinks, until it does.

Oikawa has always been very observant, and he’s the first to notice how you don’t quite do everything like you did when you would still stick to the two of them like glue. You don’t walk between the two of them anymore, always a step ahead or two steps behind. You stick to your own bentos and lunches, and even when he offers your favourite egg rolls (his mother remembers and packed him extra) you adamantly refuse until it becomes a fight. You refuse to ask him for anything anymore, not even to hold half of the class’ notebooks to the faculty room and he can only scold you endlessly when you show up to practice with a sprain. 

Iwaizumi thinks he would understand if it’s just Oikawa, chalk it up to threats from young girls who aren’t mature enough to understand friendships like yours. But you do it to him too when he’s not supposed to be anyone special - not enough to merit others giving you a hard time - and he’s so angry at the thought of it, Iwaizumi ends up sending a volleyball club member to the infirmary for a spike straight to the face. You accompany the boy with blood gushing from his nose like any good manager and he can’t look at you when you pass him.

The coach still puts him as a regular, laughing a little when he compliments Iwaizumi’s sheer amount of brute force.It only makes him angrier.

* * *

[“Iwaizumi, we need to talk.”

“…”

“I’m serious; what’s going on?”

“…tch.”

“Why are you so hostile these days? It’s not like you!”

“ _It’s not like me_ …?” A laugh. “How would you know?”

“Wha… Iwaizumi, what’s your problem?”

“Figure it out yourself.”

He slams the classroom door with enough force to rattle the hinges.]

* * *

Iwaizumi becomes _Zumi_ as a compromise, after your last heated argument in the end of your second year of junior high. Oikawa becomes your buffer, and even then, when Iwaizumi is angry and confused, he can tell the brunette’s going to be a great captain one day.

Only with methods not as extreme, he wishes when Oikawa locks the both of you in his bedroom. The setter and future captain has effectively drowned out all of his curses and banging with strategic headphones and loud rock music. Get your shit together! Is the only thing he says before pushing a chair under his doorknob and throwing his weight on it. His sister rolls her eyes at his unconventional antics, but doesn’t say anything other than to keep it down, Takeru is still sleeping.

Iwaizumi doesn’t really want to think about how it has come to this. When people ask him if the three of you have ever had a fallout, he’d imagine that you and Oikawa would get into any argument faster than you and he ever could. And yet, you’re both stuck in Idiot-kawa’s space-themed bedroom until you can manage to talk to each other about things other than volleyball club updates.

You’re sitting on the edge of Oikawa’s futon, picking at imaginary lint from his blanket and trying your hardest not to look him in the eye. Iwaizumi wants to break down the idiot’s door, consequences be damned. This shit is far too awkward for him and he _knows_ you’re still hurt, but he doesn’t want to apologize for something he can’t really explain either.

But Iwaizumi sighs, knowing very well that this is another thing that he’ll let slide. He runs a hand through his short hair, tugging at the ends and asking himself if this is really something he’ll allow.

The answer is yes, undoubtedly, unconditionally.

Iwaizumi tries not to notice how you flinch when he flops on the futon next to you. He holds out his hand: a truce. You don’t even hesitate to take it, squeezing hard enough to make a grown man wince. Iwaizumi supposes he deserves that, at least.

* * *

[“Hey… We’re okay, right?”

“Do you still have a stick up your ass?”

“Mm! Zumi, you’re horrible! That’s so rude!”

“That sounds even more childish than _Iwa-chan_. Ugh.”

“Would it be better if I called you Iwa-chan the- Ow!”

“ _Stu_ -pid.”

He brisk walks ahead of you, snatching your peach soda childishly.]

* * *

You call him _Hajime_ again only whenever his mother manages to persuade you to at least stay for dinner, your father wouldn’t mind, Hajime will walk you home (Iwaizumi really doesn’t think it to be any sort of a bother, but enjoys seeing you squirm when he tries to look like he does). A subtle thrill shoots straight down his spine whenever he hears it from your lips, accompanied by light laughter and a knowing little grin sent his way.

Iwaizumi won’t admit it, but these are the nights he looks forward to the most. He likes the easiness of it all, slouching back on the couch with a mug of oolong tea. He likes how right just about everything seems when he watches the way you sit down in their kotatsu, tutoring his younger brothers over science lessons he never really understood. Sometimes Oikawa comes over as well sometimes to play and distract his siblings, and the picture grows a little larger; Iwaizumi knows he’s already familiar with the scenery, but he could still get used to this sort of comfort forever.

It’s all a little domestic, and Matsukawa and Hanamaki would definitely shoot him suspicious looks if he ever brings it up.

You sneak a glance at him from the kotatsu, eyes a little sleepy as you struggle to teach their youngest, Shouhei, about stages of matter. Hajime, can you get me more tea when you get up? And even when Iwaizumi doesn’t really have any plans at all of straying from the comfort of his seat, he obliges and lets you ask your favours. Lets you grin cheekily as he shoots a halfhearted glare but picks up your mug and heats up the tea again anyway.

(Iwaizumi lets himself have these moments of domesticity to himself, untainted by unwritten rules about growing up and boy-girl friendships. It’s only fair when he would allow you access to the whole world anyway if he could)

* * *

[“You didn’t have to walk me home.”

“My mother would have killed me if I hadn’t.”

You laugh. “Well, tell Iwaizumi-san I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Yeah, you can.”

“And…thanks for having me over again, Zumi.”

“Hajime.”

“Huh?”

“You can still call me Hajime.”

“…Thanks, Hajime.”

He matches your pace and doesn’t comment how small your steps seem to be.]


	7. graduation traditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> perhaps there are some things better left unsaid (or is it?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been absolutely floored!!! at how much support this little self-indulgence fic has been getting!!! thank you all so much and hope you're enjoying this all as much as i enjoy writing it u v u

Graduation comes faster than he can react to, and before Iwaizumi can really understand what’s happening, the third year volleyball club members are once again called to the gymnasium for a final bow of sorts. For Aoba Johsai, one of Miyagi prefectures’s top performing sports schools, of course this means one last volleyball match for the graduating members of the team.

It’s something he’s used to, has been doing it for the last few years even. It isn’t quite the same this year though, when he’s the one on the court saying goodbye to a team he has trained with and loved for all of his high school days. Iwaizumi remembers hearing how your life flashes before your eyes the moment before you die, and he thinks he can believe it the moment his spike connects with Oikawa’s toss. Iwaizumi remembers training camps and missed family vacations; after school practices and late night study sessions; tournament matches and heavy bus rides back to the school.

His right palm slams into the ball, breaking through his underclassmen’s defenses and connects straight with the wooden floorboards with a resounding _bam_! 

“Come on, are you even trying!?” He yells out, a little annoyed at the prospect that the remaining members of Aoba Johsai’s volleyball club might be taking it easy for the sake of the third years’ last match. There’s a part of him that’s a little worried this is what he’ll be leaving behind. He isn’t a fool, even coach Mizoguchi has to admit that this is the strongest line up Seijoh has had for a while and it’s not even solely because of their monster of a setter.

Kindaichi, usually so pliant and timid when face to face with Seijoh’s ace, stares back defiantly. That won’t happen again, his hard eyes read, as the taller boy dashes back to position. Matsukawa laughs from his spot beside him.

“You’re scaring them, Iwaizumi.” Matsukawa teases, and this only seems to bring the other team even further on edge. Iwaizumi notices even Kunimi adjusting his stance to a sturdier one.

“Tch,” his tone tells people he’s irritated, but there’s a gleam of challenge in his eyes that set his opponents (and teammates) on edge. Iwaizumi grins and calls for the toss again, “One more time!”

From his all-star third year line-up, Hanamaki guffaws and sets up for another serve. They wait for your whistle, blocking out the sound of squeaking sneakers in favour of the tense silence that surrounds their side of the court.

It smells like a sharp mix coolant spray and sweat, a bunch of teenage boys running around continuously for hours on end in a barely air-conditioned gymnasium is not the most pleasant of scents. Still, it triggers memories he has thought to have been long forgotten. Iwaizumi remembers his first week of practice, thinking if Kitagawa Daiichi’s training had been bad, Seijoh’s were brutal. Iwaizumi remembers the almost constant puking after practices late into the night, Oikawa’s voice teasing but weak as the setter heaves and barely manages to suppress another hurl alongside him.

Fuck, he’ll miss this.

You blow the whistle, sharp and short. Hanamaki serves straight to Watari on the other side, and he hears the unsatisfied click of the wing spiker’s tongue as he quickly gets back into position. Kindaichi calls for a toss and Iwaizumi readies his jump, a familiar fire burning in his gut as he strives to keep the ball in play.

* * *

Practice is brutal, physically and emotionally. Iwaizumi wonders if it’s because he hasn’t really been properly training for a few months now, forced to focus on final exams and entrance tests and interviews instead. Nonetheless, he’s grateful when Kanakawa, the new manager, timidly hands him a water bottle. She scurries off to someone less intimidating, like Yuda, who readily waxes poetics on how he’ll miss having such cute managers.

Yuda has told them before, that he might end his volleyball career with high school. Shido and Sawauchi are also on the fence about it, but admit that not being able to play for their last year in high school had been disappointing and heartbreaking enough. Matsukawa, despite being such a strong and talented player, has been murmuring his own doubts when he starts to consider how much he’ll have to do going into an art school. Iwaizumi honestly has yet to imagine a life without volleyball, and he thinks he’s honestly a little afraid of it. Hanamaki tells him, man to man and wing spiker to wing spiker, that he has no doubts Iwaizumi will make it to the big leagues one day. Possibly with Oikawa, but his strength as a volleyball player doesn’t really need to rely on the setter. Iwaizumi still feels an uncomfortable churn in his gut at the thought of the uncertain future.

Someone throws a dry towel over his head and he really shouldn’t be surprised to find you grinning when he looks up. 

“Dry off unless you want to catch pneumonia,” you tell him. He grunts in response, but rubs the sweat off his brows with it still. You grin, satisfied, and move to hand the other players their own towels. The brunette catches the way you glance wistfully at Kanakawa, possibly reminiscing about the days you were once in her position, still a little awkward and frantically handing water bottles to players a head taller than her.

Iwaizumi hasn’t asked you clearly about your plans for college and volleyball, if you’ll be sticking with him for extracurricular activities still. He knows you’re both going to the same university, weeks of dread and guilt eventually leading up to a shaky hand and unbelieving stare at your acceptance letter a week prior. That doesn’t really assure him of anything, however. His throat closes up a little bit at the thought of you not being by his side during practices. Not when you’ve spent more than a decade beside him, patching up bruises and going over volleyball plays late into the night. He squeezes his bottle’s contents at his face, hoping the water will cool down his panicked thoughts. 

Yahaba is named the new captain and Oikawa seems to be having a hoot of a time at the news, teasing the second year relentlessly over having to handle the wild beast known as Kyoutani without Iwaizumi to reel him in. Hanamaki leans closer to him to gossip, Watari had been offered the position first, if ever he’d make the choice to switch back as a setter. Iwaizumi eyes their libero curiously, but there doesn’t seem to be a hint of regret as he grins proudly at Yahaba. The coach says his final thanks to the third years, and Iwaizumi can tell everyone gets a little misty-eyed when head coach Iruhata breathes in and smiles contentedly. The (former) ace’s eyes trail back to you and the way you smile softly at the scene and he can’t help the way his lips curl upward at the sight, bittersweet.

Tomorrow is graduation. He fiddles with the hem of his jersey jacket, conversations about second buttons and last chances of confessions running through his head. Iwaizumi wonders if it still works when your uniform is a blazer instead of the cool black gakuran.

* * *

“There you are.” Iwaizumi finally finds you, sitting inside a freshman classroom with your back facing the door. You startle at his voice, but grin widely when you spot him. The sun’s setting rays from the tall windows cast a warm glow on you. He wonders briefly if he’s dreaming.

“You found me,” you reply and turn to face the front of the room. He can see the way the light reflects the tears in the corner of your eyes. “This used to be our classroom, you know?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes wander about, and he can vaguely recall sitting in front of you and doing his best to hide the fact that you would sometimes snooze during Japanese literature. You sigh dreamily, placing your elbow on your desk and your cheek resting on your palm. Iwaizumi taps the container housing his diploma twice against his shoulder, and hesitates about asking you come back down with him, your families (found families with the volleyball club and your actual blood-related one) are waiting for you outside. Instead, he moves gracefully enough not to disrupt the seats until he reaches what he remembers vaguely as his own. 

Iwaizumi sits down and forgets the words he wants to say when you grin back at him.

“It was the only class we had together in high school,” you look wistful at your own container on your desk, a sigh barely escaping from your lips. “And then you had to go and take a college prep class like the smarty pants you are!” Iwaizumi would like to retort, but enjoys the sight of you pouting and barely suppressing a grin at your own quips to lighten the mood. “It was really scary, being away from you and Kawa.”

Iwaizumi recalls you looking crestfallen after staring up at Seijoh’s bulletin board for announcements of section changes after their diagnostic examinations the second week of class. He remembers Oikawa sputtering in disbelief at the fact that Iwaizumi had been the one interested and eligible for a college preparatory class among the three of you. 

You shift, reminding him to stay in the moment, he can wallow in his memories when he’s home alone after all. You place both hands on your desk, twining your fingers anxiously. You examine them with an intensity he knows isn’t because of curiosity. This is the first time Iwaizumi has heard of your fears; perhaps graduation has given you all the nostalgia you need in order to be honest with him about these things. 

“It’s been the three of us for so long that I…” you pause, fingers fidgeting and seemingly trying to find the right words to say. “It scared me to think how separating from the both of you had been such an easy thing.” Iwaizumi watches you tuck and untuck your hair, unable to look him in the eye as you confess. “…and now we’re graduating, and going to separate colleges.”

Iwaizumi has had this conversation before. The three of you - Oikawa, him and you - curled up in the former captain’s family’s kotetsu, raw and vulnerable as you all tried to keep your words clear and tears at bay. It feels strangely odd to hear you voice these things out again, but perhaps some things weren’t meant to be said at the time. Oikawa had been the star of that particular night, after all, sniffling and sobbing silently into your shoulder while a wildlife documentary plays on in the background to hide your conversations.

You chuckle and shake your head. “It’s probably stupid; you and I are going to the same university.” You finally look back up at him, and Iwaizumi’s breath catches at the sight of your honest, unshed tears. “But…”

But it is different. But it will be different. But…

Iwaizumi lets your voice trail off, sounding unsure and self-conscious.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi starts, reaching out a hand to take yours. You seem to startle, eyes widening just the tiniest bit until they settle on his own. Iwaizumi hasn’t held your hand since junior high school. He hopes it still makes you feel as secure as he remembers. In the softest voice he can manage, he tells you, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You pause, and glance at the way his hand envelops yours. Iwaizumi prides himself in knowing you well enough to not need words, but right now he can’t pinpoint uiur expression. You slowly shift your palm until your fingers twine with his. Iwaizumi can feel his heart slamming in his chest, sharp eyes trained hard on you even as you avoid his questioning gaze. You lick your lips, and Iwaizumi traces the movements with his eyes. “Hajime,” you call out softly.

He has missed the way his name sounds from your lips.

The classroom door slides open with a loud slam, startling the both of you into jumping as far apart as you could, given the short amount of distance between your two desks.

“There you are!” Oikawa, loud and boisterous and entirely too overwhelming, breaks the tension in the room easily. The mood shifts, and both he and you turn to stare at the fairer young man, hands on hips and glare accusatory. As if you’re leaving him out of even more things by sneaking off to a random classroom doing who knows what-

Nothing. You and Iwaizumi are doing nothing; he tries to shake out of the thoughts. Iwaizumi feels his ears heating up, and tries to erase the last few moments from his head, too embarrassed to even think of whatever possible situation it could have ended up with should Oikawa not have such bad timing. The taller brunette makes it easy enough by pouting harder and whining louder. “I’ve been looking all over for the two of you!”

“We were waiting for you, dumbass,” Iwaizumi comments truthfully, thankful that Oikawa being Oikawa gives him enough of a distraction to push his stomach back down into a semblance of calm. “Finally done with all the last minute confessions?”

Oikawa, easy to please and easier to distract, simply grins and holds up two fingers in a peace sign. “I think I might have enough buttons to make three shirts.” Iwaizumi knows he’s boasting, but most likely not exaggerating as well. He snorts.

Iwaizumi has heard from Makki’s gossip that some high schools from neighbouring schools have actually dropped by today for the sole purpose of confessing to the graduating Oikawa Tohru.

The brunette drops his hand, and drops the easygoing grin along with it. He juts out a hip and rests one hand on top of it, “Seriously, we’ve all been waiting for the two of you for the graduation dinner. Let’s go!” Without waiting for a reply, Oikawa turns on his heel and begins whistling away, expecting the two of you to follow after him most likely.

Iwaizumi finally glances back down at you, noticing your silence. You blink up at him owlishly, as if in a trance. He cocks his head to the side and calls your name. You startle again, and he watches the soft pink slowly crawl up your neck before you shake your head.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” You push up from your seat and quickly snatch your diploma from the desk. “Come on, Kawa’s waiting.”

Iwaizumi watches you disappear into the hallway to chase after Oikawa. He scratches his neck, faint traces of his rapid heartbeat still lingering in his chest. Iwaizumi groans quietly, and takes two deep breaths. He fiddles with his blazer button, mind reeling back to longstanding traditions and longstanding friendships. When his hearbeat finally calms, Iwaizumi takes long strides to catch up with the two of you.


	8. hard habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you move into your dorm earlier than needed. oikawa pouts and iwaizumi sasses. really, you're all creatures of habit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise!!!! it's been a while and i hope this is still something you're reading uvu i had a lot of fun w this chapter too, and have a few half ready to publish. thanks again for the support!!

Oikawa gives up the moment you tell him you still have three moving boxes waiting for the three of you downstairs in the dormitory lobby. The brunette shoots you a deadpan look before making a dramatic show of dropping the box labelled _summer clothes_ unceremoniously on your dorm-provided single bed. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the taller young man, hefting a box full of your books — both academic and fiction — on his shoulders like they weigh nothing. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to help her!” He whines, flopping down on your bed and away from Iwaizumi’s judgmental gaze. “What if I sprain my fingers or something, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa shuffles to a sitting position, placing his weight on his elbows as he does so to shoot a halfhearted glare at you. “These are all so heavy. Are you bringing your whole room to Tokyo?”

You laugh, placing one of your smaller boxes containing all of the stationary you have collected throughout high school and will most likely not even bat an eye at during college. You want to tell him that Iwaizumi certainly seems to have no problem helping you move into your dorm room, but think that might set off Oikawa even more. He does look very comfortable lounging on your bed while the gruffer and undoubtedly the more generous of the two has already started stacking your box of books in your half of the room.

Oikawa is right though: the amount of stuff you have brought with you from your childhood bedroom in Miyagi is honestly a little overwhelming. Coach Mizoguchi has always claimed it as one of your many strengths as a manager. Overpacking and having extras of everything certainly beats panicking in the middle of a practice match because you’re a water bottle short for some very dehydrated volleyball players. You suppose old habits do die hard. But then, that’s exactly why you’ve decided to move in a little earlier than your two boys, knowing full well you’d need all their help.

“If you’re just going to sit there like you own the place, why don’t you be useful and get us some lunch, Sissykawa?” Iwaizumi drawls out, smacking Oikawa’s hand from fiddling with the tape sealing your boxes. Oikawa pouts and turns to you.

“I told you, we should have just all moved in together. My sister’s apartment is near my university, and Iwa-chan and you could just go home together so it would be safe!” You’ve had this conversation before, multiple times since the three of you found out you’d all be moving to Tokyo for college. It’s not like your parents disapproved, they’ve known both Iwaizumi and Oikawa since your play dates in kindergarten. Oikawa’s mother had even expressed her relief if Iwaizumi and you would be able to keep her precious only boy out of trouble in spite of attending different universities. You smile at him and roll your eyes.

“Have you forgotten again?” You lean your hip on the study desk identical for every dorm room. “They’re mandating that Freshmen not from Tokyo stay in the campus dorm for their first year.” You say. “And Zumi got on a volleyball scholarship, so he needs to stay close to school grounds for early morning and evening practices.”

If possible, Oikawa’s pout deepens and you exchange knowing glances with Iwaizumi. The stockier brunette crosses his arms over his chest, an amused smirk on his lips. “Shittykawa, you’re—what—-two stations away?”

“We can still have dinner on Fridays.” You shrug.

“You have our numbers on your stupid phone, right?”

“And it’ll only be a year.” You reach out to ruffle his soft hair. Predictably, Oikawa swats your hand away with no real force. He gives a convincing enough glare before softening considerably and sinking into your mattress with a pout. You grin, crawling to the bed next to him. Once the both of you lie down shoulder to shoulder, you softly knock your head to his. “I promise we’ll think about moving in with you next year, when we’ve all adjusted to Tokyo.”

“You better,” he mumbles and sighs, relaxing against your presence. When you glance up for Iwaizumi to join you, there’s an odd expression on his face that you can’t quite pinpoint. Before you can deduce what it is, he snaps out of it once he notices you looking. He sends one of his rarer, more affectionate smiles towards the two of you instead. 

“But you know,” you laugh a little and nudge Oikawa’s shoulder with yours. “I am a little hungry, Kawa. Can you go ahead and save us a seat at that ramen place down the street?”

“Again, if you’re not going to actually help us with the boxes, food is a strong alternative.” Iwaizumi snorts motioning to the heavy boxes scattered across your side of the room. 

“Hmph,” Oikawa makes a little grunt when he fully pushes himself up. He reaches out a hand for you to take, making sure he’s not the only who’ll be doing his assigned task. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

You laugh again and take it, pulling yourself up easily with a little tug from the taller boy. Iwaizumi opens the door for the three of you and you all make your way downstairs.

It’s still a few days before the freshmen and other dorm residents move in. There are only a handful of people, and you haven’t really met anyone aside from the your RA. The dorm is actually quite nice, and though exclusively for female students, male students can come and go as they please granted they keep to curfew (or, you know, not get caught by it). Iwaizumi’s dorm is the building across from yours, and it reassures you to have him so near, especially with Oikawa’s continuous whines of everything being unfair, how come you to get to go to the same school, why is life so cruel, he’s even stuck with Ushiwaka-chan what the fuck (Iwaizumi bets you they’ll last less than a semester before they start dating. You claim that it’ll only take until midterms).

Iwaizumi leaves the smaller box to you, and lifts the last two in front of him. Oikawa rolls his eyes and mumbles _showoff_ under his breath.

Oikawa doesn’t need to ask for your orders, shoyu, tonkotsu, and miso; habit and years of friendship has at least made ramen choices incredibly predictable for the three of you. He still puffs out and declares he’ll be taking a shortcut, so you better get this done quick. Iwaizumi whispers a condescending remark under his breath, sure he’ll be flirting up a storm the moment he sees his type anyway to keep occupied. You snort, pushing Oikawa out the door before bending down to pick your last box.

“You really are bringing too many things, you know” the brunette comments. You know Iwaizumi makes a lot of things look easy — particularly manual labour — but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get tired as well. He gives you a halfhearted glare when you can only grin sheepishly back at him in apology.

By the time you manage to haul everything back up, Iwaizumi finally lets out a groan of relief and collapses on your dorm regulated bed, face first. You laugh, setting down your box near the foot of the bed and taking in the sight of such a big guy almost passed out on a single-sized mattress. 

He says something muffled by your pillow, and you can only really think it’s another complaint he has been saving until it was just the two of you. It’s not as if he doesn’t agree with Oikawa and his whining. The two of you simply understand that your college move — the first for the three of you — has only further agitated Oikawa and his nerves. People would think Oikawa would be the one to have no problem with letting go of his two oldest friends, but isn’t it the exact reason why you’ve been friends for so long? 

You honestly do feel guilty, knowing how much Oikawa struggles with his loneliness. You wonder briefly if it would have been better to send for an application to Yuudai instead and trailed alongside the setter. You know it wouldn’t be beneficial for the both of you, both professionally and personally. Oikawa needs to start learning what it’s like not having you and Iwaizumi within and arm’s reach, and you definitely need to stop doting on him all the time. Besides, Yuudai doesn’t have a good enough physical therapy course, and Seirin may be one of the top competing sports universities, but Oikawa’s university of choice has been known to send their athletes to international competitions, maybe even the Olympics if the athletes are good enough (and both you and Iwaizumi know, this is what he wants eventually; he doesn’t say it out loud, but the gleam in his eyes when you gather every olympic season is enough clue for the both of you). 

You lay down on your back next to Iwaizumi, shoulder to shoulder and breathe out a sigh of your own. He moves his head to look at you with a low hum the same time you turn to him; you’re startled to find such a brilliant shade of green staring back at you.

You forget, for a split second, whatever important thing you want to tell him and squeak out instead, “You’re sweating on my pillow.”

“Your fault for bringing your whole room here,” Iwaizumi snorts and rolls his eyes, rolling over so he’s now lying down on his back. You want to tell him he’s making things worse but your words stop in your throat. He grunts and does a little stretch, the muscles in his bicep flexing as he arcs his back to reach for his shoulder blades. _Hot damn_.

You feel your face burning and cough into your hand in an attempt to hide your red cheeks. It hasn’t really occurred to you how much your boys have grown, even though you’ve been in charge of monitoring the male volleyball team’s physicals for the past three years. In spite of what Oikawa’s lovesick fans might think, physicals aren’t really about fawning over whose abs seem to be more defined as the years go by but more of attempting (often unsuccessfully) to reel in a bunch of immature boys as they compete over who grew the most in height. So it’s not as if you’ve been paying particularly close attention as to how Oikawa and Iwaizumi especially have begun growing up.

(You remember meeting with Arato-senpai the break before Spring Interhigh, and the low whistle she gave as you compared the most recent team shot to the first ever you took as a team in Seijoh back when you were a first year. She laughs heartily, the big and all the way from your belly kind that makes you want to smile even if you don’t understand exactly what’s funny. She begins pointing out your current regulars and old upperclassmen, chattering excitedly about what has changed since she’s been in charge.

“Oh!” Arato-senpai squeaks out, tapping a dark plum nail on your phone screen to zoom at the roster’s captain and vice captain. “Your boys seem to be doing well.” She gives you a grin that looks too cheeky to be genuine.

“Kawa hasn’t really changed much,” you laugh alongside her. “He shot up though. You were right! He did reach six feet tall.” 

Arato hums in response, idly zooming in and swiping here and there to look at the numerous pictures on your phone. You usually would mind, but this was Arato-senpai, the hardcore manager you’ve been looking up to for all your years in Seijoh. “You know who _has_ changed a lot?” She doesn’t wait for you to answer, giggling under her dainty hand as she finds the picture of the player she has been looking for. She almost shoves your phone under your nose in her haste. “Iwaizumi-kun!”

It’s indeed a picture of Iwaizumi on your phone, candid and most likely unaware you were even taking snapshots of him and the team. It’s the moment right after he’s won from his and Kyoutani’s impromptu game of baseball. Iwaizumi’s looks to be sweating in the picture, raising the collar of his shirt to wipe the sweat off from the side of his face. The gesture results in a little peek at his toned belly, as if the rolled up sleeves exposing his biceps in broad daylight aren’t enough to let everyone know just how much he’s grown up over the past few years.

But it’s the way the light hits his tanned cheekbones just right that makes him look positively _glowing_ under the rays of the late afternoon sun. You wonder how you hadn’t noticed that before when you took the shot.

“Now, he’s grown up, definitely.” Arato’s chuckles snap you out of your reverie. She purposefully doesn’t look at you, sighing exaggeratedly at the picture of Iwaizumi. If you hadn’t known that her preference was for the more fairer sex, you might have thought she’d fallen completely over him. “You better move fast, manager, or he’s not going to be available at your beck and call any time soon. Men like Iwaizumi are just a college girl’s type, you know?”)

You suppose it’s only natural, though. You three are practically young adults already. You’ve already begun your move to college, and both of your boys will be starting their transition soon as well. You know he’s grown up, but perhaps is the first time you’ve actually understood how much.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi’s low baritone catches you off guard. You quickly turn your head back to his direction and feel your breath stop short at the way his handsome face scrunches up a little as he stares, bemused. “Did you fall asleep with your eyes open again?”

You scoff, undignified, and quickly reach around to smack a throw pillow to his chest. Iwaizumi lets out a strained _oof_ , but you know it doesn’t really hurt him (you’ve seen Hanamaki send a solid smack to Iwaizumi’s torso once out of sheer boredom without the former Seijoh Ace even blinking). Iwaizumi ends up laughing though, boyish and happy and you can’t help the wide grin on your face as you listen to him.

His laughter sounds the same, no matter how many years have passed. You still love hearing it.

“Can we stay like this for a bit?” He asks you quietly after his laughter dies down and he’s catching his breath. His left hand brushes the back of yours as he adjusts his position. It’s not a movement that makes your heart flutter, but one that sets it at ease.

“Kawa’s going to whine so much if we’re late,” you mumble back and loop your pinky through his. Iwaizumi’s eyes close and he breaths out slowly through his nose. You suppose he deserves the rest.

“Just five minutes, and then we go, promise.”

You know Iwaizumi to be a man of his word, so you laugh quietly and settle back down. You peek and see his mouth has quirked upwards in response. You’re a creature of habit, much as you hate to admit it, and indulging in Iwaizumi is one that you’ll never tire of.


	9. a not-date date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iwaizumi asks you to watch the finals match with him. of course it's not a date. (karasuno vs. shiratorizawa. contains canon lines.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not very /sold/ with this one, but just to show that this fic isn't dead and so am i :')))) i usually really like writing canon moments, but this one was kind of hard to do and wasn't going the way i wanted it :'// oh well!! the next few chapters will be mostly on the road to graduation and finally ~ university ~ spoiler alert: they're still not together. come on reader-chan u can do better than that. :')))))

Finally.

Iwaizumi absolutely detests the word, especially in reference to him. Especially when he feels as if people keep telling him this is what you should have been doing all along, when Iwaizumi knows perfectly well that he’s doing just fine. You’re finally going to the dentist. You’re finally taking a break. You’re finally going to do something you should have done since you were six years young and too oblivious to notice the person right beside you. So when Hanamaki suddenly tells him, “Oh, are you finally asking her out?” when they hit the showers after their impromptu third years only match it’s enough to set Seijoh’s ace on edge.

It’s not a date.

It’s not a date, he keeps chanting to himself, staring pointedly at his closet and how utterly dull and unfashionable some of his clothing choices are. Iwaizumi grumpily and forcefully grabs a few of his favourite shirts and jackets, throwing them to his bed haphazardly to judge more closely. 

It’s not as if you haven’t seen every single outfit he owns. Iwaizumi tosses a short sleeved polo back to his messy closet, too formal. And it’s not as if he’s trying to impress you, groaning at his tried and tested and far too plain rock band t-shirts. He shoves them all near the edge of his bed to declutter. Iwaizumi ends up snatching a gray hoodie from the pile on his bed, grumbling to himself. Hoodies are safe and casual, and he remembers you said it feels really nice to the touch.

Not that he wants you to touch him, of course (God, that sounds even more inappropriate than he thought). Not if you don’t want to, anyway. But he’s more than willing to oblige if it is—

Iwaizumi groans out loud and violently storms past his room and into the bathroom, shoving past his younger brother Fuuta’s sleepy form as he does so. Iwaizumi faintly hears the incessant banging from his little brother’s fists but drowns it out along with his traitorous thoughts by placing the shower on full blast and stepping inside.

* * *

He’s glancing at the watch on his wrist anxiously. Iwaizumi is still about fifteen minutes ahead of the time you two agreed on, but has already been walking around the district shops for about seven rounds too much that the local grocer seems to be only one more lap away from calling the police. He tries to settle his supposedly nonexistent nerves by rubbing the back of his neck and finally slowing to a stop near the arcade.

He tilts his head at the glowing lights and obnoxiously loud sound effects from inside. Maybe the two of you could stop by here before heading to Sendai City Gymnasium? He shakes his head to banish the thought and is about to turn tail and wait by the clock tower in the middle of the shopping district when his eyes catch sight of the crane game by the entrance. It’s the one you always seem to linger at when the team passes by on the way home, the one full of different little dog plushies small enough to use as decorative bag straps. He remembers Matsukawa and you fawning over them the week it had been installed.

Iwaizumi’s hand shoots for the coins he knows are hidden in the various pockets of his jean jacket and comes up with a few hundred yen. Enough for a couple of rounds while he waits to steer away from too-early-anxiousness into fashionably late category. The brunette drops a coin in and tries not to think about what kind of expression you might make when he inevitably hands the far too cute stuffed animals to you.

The game starts up and the tune immediately annoys him, but Iwaizumi doesn’t let his concentration slide. He has been friends with Oikawa for roughly thirteen years, annoyance is but an old friend to him by now. His eyes flicker back and forth from the crane to one of the stuffed shiba inu dogs staring up at him with its embroidered tongue out. You’d like that one, he thinks, would laugh very hard at the weird expression on its face and comment on how it reminds you of Shittykawa. Iwaizumi finds his lips quirk upwards at the thought; it does look both incredibly stupid and oddly cute enough to look like Oikawa. He pushes down on the red button and watches with bated breath as the crane descends and catches the shiba inu by the nose—only for the plushie to somehow wiggle loose as it ascends once more.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath and digs for one more coin. He’s not in any hurry to meet you, after all. It’s not a date, anyway, just a simple outing with a friend. Not weird at all, and definitely not in need for him to show up so early. Besides, this would eventually be yours once he manages to get it. Wait—would that essentially be the equivalent of giving flowers on the first date?

Iwaizumi’s hand accidentally slips and presses the red button again. He watches in despair as the crane inevitably claws on nothing before raising itself back up and dropping air into the shoot once more. Iwaizumi’s forest green eyes stares harder at the offending plushie. The brunette squares his shoulders and inserts another coin.

…and another…

…and one more…

…and shit, it’s not supposed to be this difficult. Just one more fucking time, he swears…

He thinks he’s got it this time and grins to himself, slamming his palm onto the obnoxiously flashing red button with enough confidence to rival Yahaba’s shameless flirting. He sees the crane descending in an almost slow-mo-like manner, enough to leave him with a thousand and one thoughts and doubts as it somehow closes in on the strap by its neck.

Is he overthinking this? Maybe he is. It’s just a dumb bag strap, after all; Matsukawa would even try to win one for you whenever you pass by the arcade during your days off. Not that it ticks him off that the middle blocker does so or anything, just that it pisses him off a little sometimes watching the two of you fawn and laugh over it like some inside joke the two of you have.

“Oh, good job, Zumi!” 

He feels his stomach almost jump out of his mouth as he whirls around to face you, the sirens signaling his win not at all helpful for the incessant thumping in his chest. 

“I—what?” He stutters out dumbly before clearing his throat. Iwaizumi makes an attempt to fix at the collar of his jacket, fidgeting as he narrows his eyes at your mischievous smile. “How long have you been standing there?”

“About three tries from before you won.” You laugh and bend down to pick up his prize from the machine. “You were really focused over there, huh? I tried to call your name a couple of times but you wouldn’t budge.”

Iwaizumi feels the tips of his ears heating up at your observation. He grunts in response, shoving his hands in his pockets in an effort to still look calm and collected. You coo a little, distracted at the small plushie in your hands and he uses the time to appreciate that you do look a little dressed up for today.

He doesn’t think he’s seen those sandals on you before, you have always been the sneakers type of person after all. Iwaizumi tries very hard not to think too much about it and almost misses your next quip.

“You must have really wanted one; Mattsun will be so jealous, I bet.” You laugh a little louder as you stare at the dog’s ridiculous expression. “Doesn’t it look a little like Kawa?”

The corner of his mouth turns upward in a soft smirk. “You can have it,” Iwaizumi whispers softly. When you turn to look up at him, bright eyes wide and lips open the slightest bit in surprise, Iwaizumi has the sudden urge to laugh and just take you out to the cafe he’s heard Hanamaki rave on and on about instead of some dumb volleyball finals he’s not even playing in. You’d like those little sweet treats, he thinks.

“Really? But you worked so hard on this!”

Iwaizumi shrugs and starts to walk away from the arcade, you follow him without a doubt, the little heels in your new sandals clacking behind the both of you. “Consider it a…” he tries to find the right words. “…sorry-we-couldn’t-make-it-to-nationals-this-year kind of gift, I guess.”

You hum in thought, strapping the little plushie securely on the sling purse you brought with you that day. “Then wouldn’t you have six years worth of gifts you need to hand over?”

He snorts, your words don’t sting as much as he thought. Iwaizumi takes a glance at you beside him; you don’t really look at him but smile widely at the little ball of dog plush swaying along with you as the two of you walk.

“We’ll get there.” He shrugs noncommittally and decides to lead you to the very same cafe Makki has been spouting nonsense off of, just to see if it really is as worth it as he says.

* * *

 

Of course, it really isn’t a date. Not when he spots Oikawa slumping in his seat, wearing his prescription glasses in an attempt to hide the puffiness from his eyes most likely. He can feel his head throb in agitation while you laugh and tell him that the both of you should have known your captain would be there. 

The match is already past halfway done already, well into the fourth set even; you and Iwaizumi admittedly have lost track of time, laughing over too much icing on too fluffy cakes. The shrimpy from Karasuno makes a solid broad attack, jumping all over the place as usual. Iwaizumi feels reality slamming back down on him along with the resounding whistle form the referee.

“Oh. You’re here too.” Oikawa’s form stiffens at his voice, most likely knowing that Iwaizumi is not very pleased at all with this turn of events. Iwaizumi’s tone is clipped and annoyed, though really, he should have expected Oikawa’s form of sulking to be something as crappy as hurting his feelings even more by watching a match he should have been playing.

Iwaizumi fluidly jumps over to the row of seats in front of both of you, eyes glued to the match and hands clenched in fists in his jacket pockets. Okay, he has to admit that watching the final match for qualifiers still stings when he should have been playing with the other members of Seijoh. “You said that you weren’t going to come because it’d piss you off, no matter who won.” He reaches out a hand and feels you take it, using him for balance as you gingerly step over the seats to take the one in between him and Oikawa. He shoves his hands into his pockets as soon as you let go, attempting to recreate the gentle warmth from the way your palm fit over his.

“That isn’t very nice of you, Kawa,” you chide, relaxing into your seat and watching the players on court move back to their positions. The sound of squeaking shoes and back and forth rally filling the gymnasium.

Oikawa makes a childish grunting sound, stretching out from his curled up sulking from earlier and attempting to appear laid back as he slumps into his seat. “No matter which side wins, I’m gonna be able to see the other team’s face when they lose.” He sounds proud, but both of you can clearly hear the tinge of jealousy clear in his voice.

“You really are a piece of crap.”

“I don’t have time sitting around feeling sorry for myself.”

There’s a momentary pause in the banter; this is a conversation he knows is best paired after a brutal afternoon of practice, when all three of you are too tired to even attempt to lie. Iwaizumi gives in and grunts, shifting the conversation back to more neutral territory with observations on Karasuno’s number 10 once more.

* * *

He ends up forgetting all about this not-date date and instead focuses too much on the final match. Iwaizumi can’t help it, honestly, not when such a good game is happening right in front of him. When the referee blows the final whistle signifying the end of the game, the brunette lets out a breath he hasn’t realized he had been holding. There’s a momentary quiet that overcomes the gymnasium before it erupts in screams and cheers of different kinds.

Iwaizumi glances towards you, and watches you let out a breath of your own, hands clutched tight enough to turn your knuckles white in front of your chest. You immediately turn in your seat to look excitedly at him. “Zumi, they won! That was incredible, what an upset!”

He wants to laugh, your childlike amazement over heart-pounding matches is definitely one of the reasons he invited you out to watch in the first place—

But does that mean there had been other underlying reasons for him to even ask you out in a not-date-date?

Oikawa comes to rescue him from his thoughts by spouting the shittiest thing he’s heard of all day. “Damn it,” the brunette curses under his breath. Iwaizumi turns back to watch the players line up and shake hands before retreating to the sides of the court to give their thanks. “Why doesn’t that bastard Ushiwaka look more upset?”

“Kawa, you should really learn to watch your mouth.”

The three of you watch Karasuno walk sluggishly back to their side of the court, obviously only able to drag their feet. Iwaizumi can only imagine the amount of exhaustion they’re feeling; a little pang of regret hits him hard in the chest at the image of this year’s Seijoh in their shoes, tired and barely able to stand but on their way to nationals. Iwaizumi shakes the thought from his head and leans his weight on the seat in front of him, “Kageyama does good work.” He can’t help the awe dripping with every word.

“You noticed it too, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa proceeds to launch into a theoretical analysis over Karasuno’s tall number 11. Iwaizumi notices the hint of pride dripping all over his captain’s words of objective praise over his junior.

You laugh and turn to Oikawa with a teasing grin on your face. “As expected of your student, huh, o Grand King Kawa?”

“He’s not my student!” He huffs out but almost immediately follows up with what Iwaizumi expects are other words of praise. “And on top of everything, he was able to accommodate chibi-chan, who came here to do something different. It’s painfully obvious.”

“Ah, what generous words.”

Iwaizumi interrupts the start of your banter, his eyes trailing after the tall blonde kid over at Karasuno. “Well… all of their good work only happened because of the blocks of that first-year with the glasses.”

“You thought so too, Zumi?” Your eyes shift back to the first year fledgling chicks crowding the back of the team. “For sure, he’s one to watch. He does feel like an entirely different player already from the one you fought with yesterday.”

Oikawa snorts from beside you and moves to stand up, “But I guess chibi-chan is a spiker you end up wanting to toss to.” Iwaizumi takes it as a sign that you’re all ready to leave and stands up without complaint. “No wonder he’s got Tobio wrapped around his little finger.”

“Well, well!” Oikawa begins to incessantly push Iwaizumi and you towards the exit of the gymnasium. “Come on, let’s go home.” He whines exaggeratedly using the most annoying voice he’s heard from him since they were kids. It earns a laugh from you though. “I’d rather die than watch the awards ceremony!”

Iwaizumi grunts and shoves his hands back in his pockets; really, he should have known better. “You really are a crappy guy.”

Your laugh sounds louder as the screams of congratulations eventually begin to fade out as the three of you walk farther away from the gym. Oikawa is already back on his phone, probably texting Mattsun and Makki about the results of the match from the look of his ferocious typing. Iwaizumi sighs and turns to look at you, having grown quieter as soon as the doors close behind you.

Iwaizumi feels a little awkward, especially since he hasn’t really been paying much attention to you as soon as he caught side of the court. He should have seen it coming, honestly. “Hey, uh,” he rubs the back of his neck, unsure what to really say. You hum in response and look up at him questioningly. It’s not as if Oikawa and him talking theories and commenting techniques is anything new, you’ve all been watching volleyball matches since you could barely play after all. Somehow, it feels a little different knowing he asked you to come without Oikawa (although the brunette did manage to eventually turn up, _somehow_ ). “Sorry I was, uh, kind of too focused on the match or something.”

You blink, before letting out a chuckle. “I don’t mind, it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before, you know?” yes, he does know, quite well actually. “Besides,” your smile seems a little softer when you look up at him again. “It’s part of what I like about you, anyway.”

Wait, what?

Iwaizumi himself blinks a few times, attempting to process your words. You don’t seem too bothered by them, but he can tell you’re walking a little stiffer, avoiding his eyes. Wait just a fucking minute, what does that even _mean_? He’s about to call your name when Oikawa beats him to it, quickly claiming both of your attentions as he waves over.

“Oi, Mattsun and Makki are waiting by the ramen bar with seats for us! Hurry up you two.”

You sigh and pick up your pace. “Aren’t you boys already tired of ramen? I can still smell Yuda-kun barfing out udon noodles, ugh.”

Iwaizumi stays rooted in his spot until Oikawa sends him a curious look. You still refuse to look at him and he’s more confused than ever. What was that all about? The ridiculous raspberry blowing plushie dog swinging from your purse seems to taunt him with its unblinking, embroidered eyes.


	10. victorious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi doesn't necessarily hate Valentine's, just that Oikawa seems to be extra annoying and you're extra sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a valentine's day special!! :'))) it's still a day before, but i got really excited ahahaha. here you go!! hope you guys like it <3

It’s Iwaizumi’s most hated time of the year. Hanamaki tells him he’s grumpier than usual every time he can, even though he has known the former ace long enough to know the reason why. You’ve known him even longer and you _still_ laugh at Makki’s comments and coos. It’s not really making his mood any better as the days pass, but he supposes the volleyball team just can’t resist riling up their usual cool and calm vice-captain. You’re certainly not doing anything to help.

It’s not that he has anything against February, honestly. Iwaizumi bears no grudge or associates the month with any sort of awful heartbreaking memory, as the second years in the club speculate. At least, he doesn’t think it should be counted as a grudge when it’s become a yearly annoyance ever since the female species realized Oikawa Tohru is actually sort of attractive (if you were into arrogant flamboyant flirts, he guesses).

“Kawa, there are girls from the home economics club looking for you,” you mention to the (now retired) captain, setting the change and the plastic full of bread in the center of your pushed-together tables. Matsukawa dumps the various juice boxes and soda cans in his arms beside you, humming in agreement. Oikawa perks up at the news and completely forgets the milk bread he asked you to buy and practically skips to the entrance of the classroom. Iwaizumi scoffs at the obnoxious display, taking his yakisoba bread from the pile and thanking you with a gruff noise from the back of his throat.

He doesn’t really have anything against the month except for Shittykawa being shittier than usual, honestly.

Hanamaki snickers beside him, cheek resting on the table as he paws blindly at the pile of bread. You shoot him a disapproving look but nonetheless say nothing and take your seat on the other side of Iwaizumi. “Already? This is even earlier than last year,” he comments, watching Oikawa shoot flashy smiles and sleazy winks at the girls from the open door. “Valentines isn’t even for another week.” 

“Well, we’re third years now,” Matsukawa mumbles around the straw of his chocolate milk drink. “Might think this is their last chance to win him over.”

“He doesn’t even eat any of them,” you comment off-handedly, struggling to open your can of peach soda. Iwaizumi moves on autopilot: his eyes are transfixed on the annoying scene outside of their classroom like the rest of his companions, but grabs your can still and easily pops the lid open with a fizzy _hiss_. You thank him with a small grin before turning back to the conversation, “He gives them to his sisters and nephew most of the time. I don’t think he even likes chocolates very much.”

“I hope he chokes on them,” Iwaizumi says, without any hint of a joke in his tone. You all laugh at his deadpan delivery, knowing full well he’s sincere about his sentiments. 

“I’m so glad we’ve already retired. This would have been more annoying if it were like the years before.” You take a sip of your soda, rummaging through the pile of bread for yours before glaring at a grinning Matsukawa who has stolen your favourite curry bread. Hanamaki counters for you by hoarding all of Mattsun’s chocolate milk into his arms. 

“Ugh,” Iwaizumi groans in disdain at the memories. Hanamaki and Matsukawa seem to understand your reference as they, too, roll their eyes. The former ace remembers those years especially well, including the ones in junior high. Valentines usually ends up as a bit of an informal contest for the volleyball team. Oikawa, true to his overbearing attitude, likes flaunting his landslide victories especially well. It’s not as if the boys in the team were unpopular by any means, just that Oikawa tends to rack up more of the points because of his crappy, cheesy self, Iwaizumi usually points out. Said setter counters that he’s just jealous, Iwa-chan, you could get more if you stopped being so grumpy all the time.

Ugh. _Rude_.

Oikawa is finally coming back with three pretty packets of what looks like homemade cookies, all of them tied with identical pink ribbons. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at his flamboyant display. “ _Jjan_!” He gestures with a flourish. “Emi-chan and her friends baked a few cookies to practice for Valentines! Isn’t that sweet of them?”

“Shut up and eat, Trahsykawa,” Iwaizumi snarks out, throwing the crumpled plastic from his yakisoba bread directly to the side of Oikawa’s head. 

* * *

The other thing about Valentines that Iwaizumi isn’t entirely fond of is another year of your heavy-duty baking the weekend before the day itself. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy helping you out (“Zumi, _please!_ What good are those big muscles of yours if you don’t help me stir?”), but he really doesn’t understand why you can’t just buy the chocolate you’re giving out for the team. You could definitely buy cheaper ones in bulk. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate your efforts, but when he’s been chopping and stirring your third batch of melted chocolates, the former ace has got to draw the line.

“Are you planning on giving _everyone_ chocolates this year?” He huffs out, looking over at you dipping another batch of strawberries beside him. He thinks it’s sweet, honestly, but far too much of a hassle for any manager, former or current. He remembers you doing this during your years in Kitagawa Daiichi as well, and Oikawa never stopped complaining. That was the last time you ever asked the setter for any help.

“Just half of them, silly,” you tell him as you dip another particularly juicy strawberry into another one of your melted chocolate mixes. “Kana-chan is making the other half with some of her classmates. I heard one of her friends has a crush on one of our first years and offered to help.” You seem delighted at the thought, grinning quietly to yourself. “Isn’t young love great?”

“Does this mean you just have a crush on one of our underclassmen?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a little pinprick in his chest as he waits for your response. You look positively scandalized, keeping your eyes on Iwaizumi while placing the next batch of chocolate dipped strawberries to cool to the side.

“Of course not!” You squeak out. You don’t look at him as you arrange the fruits carefully in the box. “I just, well, want to thank everyone for the last three years.” You mumble out. Iwaizumi pauses in his stirring to properly look at you, pouting and fidgeting a little under his sharp gaze. “I don’t want them to forget me, is all.” 

“I don’t think we’d ever forget someone like you,” Iwaizumi says it so easily, so casually, that it’s no wonder your ears turn a little pink at his straightforward words. He holds your gaze, a little transfixed at how the colour easily bleeds to dust your cheeks. The brunette clears his throat, eyes set on the melting chocolate in front of him. “Anyway, let’s finish these and get some rest already.”

* * *

“The managers made them cry this year,” Hanamaki snickers out, watching the video the new manager sent him. Oikawa leans over the taller male’s shoulder, laughing as he watches the remaining members flush beet red with genuine tears in their eyes, exclaiming incoherent thanks at you. Iwaizumi even thinks he catches a bit of a hurried confession somewhere there. The student librarian quickly makes a shushing sound, frowning in disapproval at the four former volleyball club regulars.

She quickly points to a sign that clearly says no electronic devices in the library. 

Hanamaki doesn’t even look the slightest bit perturbed by it, and instead makes a show of stuffing his phone in his bag. Matsukawa snorts and his eyes fall back to finishing a portrait sketch to put in his portfolio. No rest for the wicked who choose art school, he says, the dark circles under his eyes making his droopy face look even more sunken.

“Did she leave already? Thought she’d be dropping to share her English notes,” Mattsun asks, scratching down a crosshatch pattern over his drawing’s nose.

Oikawa pouts and frowns, resting his cheek on his hand as he stage-whispers back to the group. “She better not have! I haven’t even gotten my chocolates from her.”

“Stupidkawa, she doesn’t owe you anything,” Iwaizumi quickly replies. “Now get back to work,” he barks out before Oikawa can even start his tirade.

Not that Iwaizumi doesn’t know exactly how his whiny ex-captain feels. The brunette doesn’t necessarily _mind_ , ruffling his short hair at another trigonometric problem in Matsukawa’s notebook (it doesn’t even have a solution to help him out, what a friend, _ugh_ ), but he’s received your chocolates during Valentines on a yearly basis since second grade. He even helped you _make_ those, the ones he’s seen Kindaichi so flustered over and holding so carefully, that he does admit it’s a little unfair. He’ll never tell Oikawa that, though. Couldn’t bear to live with the shame of agreeing with the pompous, Valentine-obsessed fool.

It’s almost miraculous how you show up not three minutes later, a little out of breath and flushed, holding a box carefully by your side. At the sight of you, Hanamaki and Oikawa hurriedly jump up to pester you about what’s in it.

“You guys didn’t think I’d forget you, did you?” you chuckle, setting down the box in the middle of the table. The student librarian shoots you a disapproving look. Oikawa doesn’t wait for you and opens the lid himself, revealing an assortment of chocolate truffles. _Oh_ , Iwaizumi doesn’t recall making those. It must have been after the both of you finished all the strawberries for your underclassmen. He does feel a little intrigued and joins the others looking at them in awe. 

You laugh at their reaction, possibly expecting it already. “I can’t stay, though, I promised I’d help clean up my mess in the home-ec room. Oh,” you turn to Iwaizumi and start digging through your messenger bag. “For all the trouble I’ve caused you, Zumi.” you laugh a little and hand him a small white paper bag, tied together with a teal ribbon. “I asked Emi-san from the home economics club how to make them, but I’m not sure if they’re any good.” 

The three other third years watch the exchange, wide-eyed and silent.

Did you just-

Iwaizumi blinks, holding the paper bag carefully in his hands.

_You did_. You just handed Iwaizumi homemade _cookies_.

_Fuck_ , he can feel his face heating up.

From the look of horror and betrayal on Oikawa’s face and Makki and Mattsun’s incessant chirping, Iwaizumi understands fully well what this means, feeling oddly flushed at your kind gesture. Valentines of their third year of high school, Iwaizumi Hajime has just beaten Oikawa Tohru by a landslide.


End file.
